


we're not gonna take it

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [8]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Gen, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: Wynonna glances over her shoulder. “That guy is a wasteoid.”“I’m going to waste him,” Nicole growls.Wynonna snorts. “You mean more than you already-” She stops quickly, glancing at Waverly. “Violence is never the answer?”“It is if the question is: What do you do with Champ Hardy?” Nicole says.





	we're not gonna take it

**Author's Note:**

> Friday Mixtape jam session, featuring Wynonna and Nicole conspiring for the greater good, Champ Hardy being on the wrong side of trick, and Waverly putting everyone in their place.
> 
> This takes place in October, 1986; Waverly is 14 and Nicole is 15.
> 
> As always, thanks to TheGaySmurf for holding my hair back as I puked this piece out.

**"We're Not Gonna Take It" Twisted Sister, 1984  
** _ We’re not gonna take it. No, we ain’t gonna take it. We’re not gonna take it anymore. _

“Come on you pencil pushers!” Coach Allenbach shouts. He pulls up his shorts, the wide blue-and-white waistband nearly up to his belly button. The bottom of the shorts cling to his thigh muscles. He’s wearing his blue satin track jacket again, the one that says ‘Allenbach’ on the back. The blue polo underneath it is ironed, the collar standing up. He readjusts his blue hat, slicking the ends of his hair back over his ears. “Champ, good work, son!”

“Champ, you’re so cute,” Wynonna mocks, lowering her voice to mimic Coach Allenbach.

Nicole thumbs the volume dial on her Walkman, lowering Night Ranger’s “Rumours in the Air” enough to hear Wynonna more clearly.

“Coach thinks Champ is wicked icy,” Wynonna continues.

Nicole slides her headphones off, sticks one finger into her mouth and pretends to puke. Wynonna rolls her eyes and puts the tip of her permanent marker back against the metal bleachers. She told Nicole she was ‘crafting her skill,’ but she’s just drawing scene after scene of stick figures in compromising positions and signing it ‘ _ Bad Company _ ’ under each one. 

Coach Allenbach lifts one leg and rests it on the lowest bleacher, stretching forward. Nicole gags for real this time, her spot under the bleachers putting him precisely in front of her. She smacks Wynonna on the shoulder and points at Coach Allenbach. Wynonna looks up and her eyes widen.

“Wow,” Wynonna breathes out. “That’s one  _ major _ -”

Nicole moves to slap her hand down on Wynonna’s mouth, but Wynonna cuts off and dodges her. She holds her permanent marker out in front of her like a weapon, the uncapped tip aimed at Nicole’s gym shirt.

Nicole narrows her eyes and scowls.

Coach Allenbach pulls a roster sheet out of his back pocket. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knee. Nicole feels the baked beans she ate at lunch pushing their way back up. She shakes her head violently, sucking in her lips to keep from puking.

Wynonna wiggles her eyebrows, and starts to draw a new picture.

“Okay, we’ve got Junger, Hardy, York, and York.” He looks up. “Pete York, this isn’t your gym class!”

Pete looks up from the chalk bag he’s using. “Oh, come on, Coach. Don’t make me go back to Lucado’s class.”

Coach Allenbach narrows his eyes and gives a heavy sigh. “If she comes for my balls, I’m pretending like I didn’t know anything. And you’re doing laps at practice,” he adds.

Pete grins widely. “Righteous, Coach.” He turns back to the chalk bag and dusts his hands, rolling his neck side to side as he stares up at the climbing rope tied to a top rafter of the ceiling.

Nicole hates the rope. Coach Allenbach doesn’t make the girls climb it unless they want to, but every boy has to get to the top to pass gym. Nicole had been angry about it, about the  _ injustice _ of it, and climbed the rope her freshman year, in her jeans and her REO Speedwagon t-shirt, without coating her hands. It took ten minutes, but she slapped her red, raw hand against the top beam, and shimmied back down - the first girl in five years to climb, Coach Allenbach told her. Halfway to the ground, her shirt got twisted in the rough nylon fabric, and ripped from the small hole she had in the shoulder, down her front.

All of fifth period saw the underwire bra her mom bought her at the Sears in the city.

Coach Allenbach continues down the roster, checking off the kids who are present and circling the ones who are absent. “Where the _hell_ is that Earp girl?” he mutters. He takes his hat off and runs a hand through his hair. He turns in a circle, his hands on his hips. “Anyone see Haught today?”

Nicole unwinds her headphones from her neck and carefully puts her Walkman in a spot under the bleachers. She slips out onto the gym floor when Coach Allenbach does another slow turn, squinting at the door that leads to the girl’s locker room. She drops to the ground, the old gym floorboards warped and waxy against her knees. She pushes up on her palms and huffs, blowing her hair out of her eyes.

Wynonna slips out behind her, and sits down on the bleachers. She crosses her legs, chews on her fingernail, and counts. “One, two.”

Nicole does another pushup, and Wynonna keeps counting. “Three.”

“Earp!” Coach Allenbach yells.

Wynonna holds up a single finger. She keeps her eyes on Nicole, still counting. “Four, five.”

Nicole does two more pushups, and then sits back on her knees. She frowns at the folded sleeve of her Purgatory High School-issued gym shirt. The shirt is so old that the cotton doesn’t hold a crease any more and her precise rolling job is a flat, sloppy mess. 

Wynonna slowly looks at Coach Allenbach. “What’s crackalackin’, Coach?”

Coach Allenbach glares at her. “You weren’t there a second ago.”

“Yes, we were.” She looks at Nicole. “Weren’t we?”

Nicole nods. “For sure.” She pats the gym floor. “Right here.”

Coach Allenbach keeps glaring at them, eyes darting back and forth between Nicole and Wynonna. Nicole pointedly lays herself back down, palms flat on the floor as she inhales the smell of rubber soles, Bruce Fresh Finish floor polish, and years of sweat ingrained in the wood. She hears Wynonna tell her to go, and she pushes up, her elbows cracking.

“One, two,” Wynonna counts lazily.

Nicole lifts her head on the next push upward - Coach Allenbach is shaking his head, but checking them off on the roster. She lowers herself back down to the ground.

“Hey, Coach!” Champ says. “Tell us how you won that big ol’ trophy again?”

Wynonna stops counting, so Nicole starts counting in her head:  _ three, four, five _ . She takes a deep breath when she gets back to the floor after five, and decides to do five more.

“You’re still doing pushups?”

Nicole finishes and then shrugs, sitting back on her knees again. She uses the bottom of her shirt to wipe off her forehead. “Why not?”

Wynonna snorts. “Why not? I can give you a hundred reasons ‘ _ why no _ t’, you noob.” She holds up one finger. “First of all, you look like a dweeb in that outfit. Second of all,” she says, lifting another finger. “I’m pretty sure  _ Gus _ wore this same outfit when she went to school. Third, you keep sticking your face in this floor and I  _ know _ for sure that Perky Tits has accidently peed her pants during a cheer practice in here. Fourth-”

“Wait, she  _ peed _ ?” Nicole asks, leaning back. She stares at her hands, feeling her eyes widen.

Wynonna nods. “Waverly told me she held it all day and right in the middle of a, uh… the one where you go,” she says, throwing her arms out.

“High Y,” Nicole says.

Wynonna lifts one eyebrow.

“Waverly told me,” Nicole says defensively. “You know that she practices all the time.”

“You pay attention to that?”

Nicole shrugs. “It’s hard not to pay attention,” she says. She feels her face flush and she scratches at the back of her neck.

“ _ I _ never pay attention,” Wynonna says slowly.

Nicole leans forward and shoves at Wynonna’s knee. “You never pay attention to anything that isn’t Doc Holliday. Or  _ Rolling Stone _ magazine.”

Wynonna opens her mouth to argue, but shrugs first. “Yeah, you’re right. Hey, did Waverly renew our subscription?” 

Nicole nods. 

Waverly had filled out the renewal card two nights ago, sliding the tip money she made over the month into the envelope with it. She had handed it to Nicole, who licked it shut, and wrote the address in neat, precise handwriting on the front. 

Yesterday morning, Nicole had ridden over to the McCready house early, dropped her bicycle on the sidewalk, and sat on the front steps until Waverly turned on the porch light.

“Ready?” Waverly had asked, coming down the stairs. She was in her Reeboks, bright red laces looped through every eyelet. They matched the red longsleeve shirt she was wearing under her denim vest. A big red scrunchie was in her hair, keeping it out of her face.

Nicole shivered against the cool October morning air, pulling the sleeves of her jean jacket down over her hands, and then nodded. She rolled Waverly’s bike across the porch, and lifted Waverly’s bike up and down to the sidewalk and held it up while Waverly came down the steps after her, squeezing her arm softly.

Waverly looked so pretty, haloed by the porch light. Nicole could see the small flyaway hairs at her temples; the way her breath puffed a soft, white cloud into the air; a small line of toothpaste from the corner of her mouth towards her chin. 

Nicole stepped close and smiled. “You have…” She shook her head softly and reached out, thumbing at the toothpaste until it disappeared.

Waverly stared up at her, eyes still clouded with sleep.

Nicole trailed her finger from Waverly’s forehead, down between her eyes, and off the end of her nose. “Are you awake enough to be riding a bike?” she asked, noticing the way Waverly’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Totally,” Waverly rasped a minute later. She reached up and caught Nicole’s hand in her own. She brought it down in front of her, weaving her fingers through Nicole’s. “Sorry. You know that puts me to sleep.”

Nicole grinned. She knew. It’s the only way she had gotten Waverly to sleep after Curtis died; long nights of running her finger down over Waverly’s face in slow motions. Then her smile faded as she remembered how much space had been between them lately, ever since the end of last school year.

Waverly must have seen it on her face because she gave her a soft smile back. “Come on,” she said, tugging at Nicole’s hand.

They had ridden towards Main Street lazily, the streetlights flickering on and off as the sun came up. Nicole had picked Dire Straits’ “Brother in Arms” cassette from Nathan’s room the night before, and popped it into her Hitachi TRK 5030E. She listened as Waverly sleepily sang along to “Money For Nothing.” They had dropped the envelope in the mailbox outside the Post Office. They went to The Patch and sat at the counter, sipping coffee from mugs fresh out of the dishwasher, the quiet hum of neon and the buzz of caffeine waking them up.

“Yesterday morning,” Nicole tells Wynonna. “We put it in the mail.”

Wynonna nods, tugs her permanent maker out of her pocket and bites down on the cap, pulling it off. She moves it until it’s tight in the corner of her mouth, and she edges the tip of the marker around the fingernail of her middle finger. 

“Gus is gonna skin you,” Nicole reminds her.

Wynonna shrugs Nicole off, but she recaps the marker anyway. She points the capped marker at Nicole. “If you have the brain space to be learning  _ cheerleading _ moves, we need to find you something else to do.” Her eyes twinkle and Nicole groans to herself. 

Nicole knows that look. It’s the same look Wynonna gets in her eyes before they end up getting into a world of trouble. It’s the same look she had on her face before she dared Nicole to jump out of her bedroom window. It’s the same look she gets when she’s about to do something she knows will drive Gus - and then Waverly - crazy.

Nicole groans.

“Earp!” Coach Allenbach interrupts. “How many pushups have you done?”

“Ten,” Wynonna says.

Coach Allenbach glares at her. “Oh, really?”

Wynonna nods. “For sure, Coach.” She lifts her middle finger in the direction of the climbing rope. “See? One,” she counts. She lowers her finger and lifts it again. “Two.”

Coach Allenbach’s eyes narrow even more and he opens his mouth to yell, but the big doors to the gym open, slamming against the inside walls.

Ms. Lucado comes storming in, her heels clacking hard against the floor. “Peter York, you are skipping my class!”

“Oh, shit,” Coach Allenbach swears softly. He points at Wynonna. “We’re not done with this conversation.” He turns and jogs towards Pete, trying to intercept Ms. Lucado. “Now, Jeannie, he’s not  _ skipping _ -”

“Don’t, Ewan,” Lucado snaps. “Mr. York, if you want to pass your freshman year of high school, you will  _ march _ yourself to my classroom right this instant.”

Nicole watches as Coach Allenbach tries to get in front of Pete again. “Jeannie, he’s just-”

“I don’t care about your  _ Order _ , or whatever you’re calling the football team these days,” Ms. Lucado interrupts. “But he’s going to math class or he’s missing practice.”

Coach Allenbach sucks in a breath and looks around the gym, at all of the students staring wide-eyed at him. Wynonna is perched on the edge of the bleachers, her eyes wide as she looks between Ms. Lucado and Coach Allenbach. Nicole’s fingers slow as she tries to re-roll her sleeves. She can see Coach Allenbach’s jaw working as he grinds his teeth together for a minute before he steps back.

“Go, Pete,” he finally says.

Pete hangs his head. “Whatever, dude,” he mumbles.

Ms. Lucado turns on Coach Allenbach. “And  _ you _ ,” she starts.

Coach Allenbach backs up a few steps, his hands raised in surrender. Nicole snorts and pulls out her half-ponytail. She finger-combs through her hair, pushing them back up so she can tie it back again. Ms. Lucado is sticking her finger into Coach Allenbach’s chest, poking him hard enough that it leaves small indents in his over-starched polo shirt.

“Lucado is a mega babe,” Carl Junger says. His voice carries from the climbing rope to the bleachers.

Nicole makes a face at Wynonna. Wynonna rolls her eyes and sinks down into the foot space for the next row up, disappearing from sight. Nicole sighs; Wynonna is probably going to spend the rest of gym napping.

“She’s a mega bitch,” Champ corrects. His runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back. He’s ripped the sleeves off his gym shirt and he flexes one arm, nodding as his muscles bulge. He looks up and around, and spots Nicole. He leaning in towards Kyle and Carl. “You know who  _ is _ a mega babe?”

Wynonna’s head lifts slightly, but not enough to be seen. 

“Waverly Earp,” Champ continues. “Now  _ she _ is bangin’.” He looks across the twenty feet of space between them and grins at her.

Nicole feels her whole body tense instantly. Her mind instantly goes back to this same gym, filled with red and pink balloons, the lights turned down low. She remembers hovering near the punch bowl, her hands clenched tight around a plastic cup as she watched Champ Hardy slip his hand under the hemline of Cora Odam’s dress and shrug off Carl’s questions about Waverly, waiting at home to grow up and be old enough for Champ to let her be his date.  

“You’re still down with her?” Kyle asks.

Champ nods. “She’s in high school now, you know.”

Nicole rocks back onto her feet into a crouch position. Wynonna is up on her elbows now, still hidden behind the rise of the metal bench. Nicole meets her eye and takes a deep, steadying breath. Champ wouldn’t be stupid enough to talk about Waverly in front of Wynonna.

“I mean, she  _ looks _ like a Sandy, but she  _ kisses _ like a Rizzo, if you know what I mean,” Champ tells Kyle, elbowing him in the side.

Nicole presses her clenched fists into the wood floor.

“What do you mean?” Carl asks.

Champ and Kyle both groan. “Dude, you’re such a dweeb,” Champ says.

Kyle shoves Champ lightly. “Tell me more, tell me more,” he chants.

“Did you get real far?” Carl asks.

Champ looks at Nicole again, his smirk different than the Valentine’s Day dance last year; in the harsh fluorescent lighting, his teeth look pointed and the turn of his lips look sinister.

_ He knows _ , Nicole thinks.  _ He’s probably known for a while _ .  _ Maybe since before the Valentine’s Day dance _ .

Champ wiggles his eyebrows at her.

_ So Champ knows and Shae knows _ , Nicole thinks.  _ At least no one else does. At least  _ Waverly  _ doesn’t _ . She sets her shoulder, locks her jaw, and glares back at him.

“We got  _ all _ the way home,” Champ says slowly, his eyes still locked on Nicole’s.

Kyle and Carl start whooping, clapping Champ on the back. Carl thumps him hard enough to send him forward a step, his eyes finally leaving Nicole’s face.

Wynonna is sitting up a little more now, her mouth pulled into a straight line. She shakes her head when Nicole looks at her, telling Nicole  _ there’s no way _ . Nicole exhales slowly, trying to remind herself Wynonna is right; there’s no way.

“No, you didn’t,” Kyle says. “There’s no way you and  _ Waverly Earp _ did the humpty hump.”

Champ crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you calling me a liar?” he challenges.

Kyle pauses for a minute. “No,” he finally says.

Champ nods sharply. “It was last weekend, after the game. You know, the one where I scored all the touchdowns.”

“If you learned to pass,” Carl starts, then snaps his mouth shut when Champ glares at him.

“Anyway, you bonehead,” Champ continues. He looks around the gym - Coach Allenbach is still arguing with Ms. Lucado, and she’s backing him out of the gym with each jab at his chest. “We went to Stephanie Jones’s house and things got freaky.”

Nicole was at last weekend’s game, freezing on a metal bench while Waverly cheered on the sidelines. Wynonna and Doc had ducked out and below the bleachers, probably to make out. Nicole had stayed in the stands, unsure of the score, but cataloging every one of Waverly’s move: the bow and arrow, the half T, the low V, the Liberty, and the Herkie. She had gone to The Patch after the game, ready for her usual glass of Orange Crush and recap of Waverly’s cheering. But Waverly had skipped out, calling The Patch from Stephanie Jones’s house to tell Nicole not to wait around for her. Nicole had heard Champ in the background.

She pushes up so she’s kneeling on one leg, ready to lunge forward. 

“Stephanie put Billy Squier on and ‘The Stroke’ was playing and-”

“That’s your song!” Carl cuts in.

Kyle smacks the back of his hand against Carl’s chest. “Shut up, dude.”

Champ takes a deep breath before going on. “So Billy Squier comes on and Waverly is all over me. She’s like, tugging at my shirt and pulling my hair. A total  _ freak _ .”

Nicole swallows hard, feeling the back of her neck start to burn. Her eyes cut to Wynonna. She’s sitting up now, but Champ has his back to her and can’t see her. Nicole leans into her lunge, her toes curled and poised to push upward.

“He’s singing about ‘The Stroke’ and I ask Waverly if she wants to head down the hallway.” Champ’s voice drops low, as if he’s telling a secret. “You know, Steph had her dad put a  _ waterbed _ in the guest bedroom.”

Kyle whistles low, and even Carl seems to understand what Champ is saying.

Nicole finds herself standing, her fists clenched at her sides. She shakes her head back and forth.  _ Waverly wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t _ . Nicole breathes in deep and tries to remind herself of that.  _ Waverly wouldn’t - not without telling me about it. _

A small thought wedges in the back of her mind.  _ Maybe Waverly did and  _ didn’t _ tell her.  _ She shakes her head again.  _ Of course Waverly would tell me _ .  _ She tells me everything. We always tell each other everything _ .

Except she never told Waverly about Shae. She never told Waverly about why Shae broke up with her - why she  _ really _ broke up with her. She never told Waverly about her first kiss, on the front steps of the Pressman house just before Shae and her family drove away for the last time. 

_ If she never told Waverly about that, maybe there’s things Waverly hasn’t told her _ , she thinks.

“So we’re on this waterbed, right?” Champ says, cutting through Nicole’s thoughts. “And I’m kissing her neck and she tells me to knock it off, because she doesn’t want a hickey, right?” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, scoffing proudly. “So I just gave her one somewhere no one else would see it.”

Wynonna is glaring now, her teeth bared and the tips of her ears flushed red.

Nicole takes a small step forward, her clunky, black Cove Shoe 1985 paratrooper boots squeaking against the wood floor.

Things aren’t quite back to normal yet. Waverly still hesitates around her; still double checks to make sure there isn’t anything Nicole is holding back. Nicole keeps her hands busy so she doesn’t get too comfortable like she used to be; so she’s not reaching for Waverly all the time, the way she trained herself to do when she was dating Shae. Things are still awkward, sometimes, and there are more silent moments than before.

Nicole thought they were getting better, but maybe they’re not.  _ Not if she’s hiding things like this _ , Nicole thinks.

“And then that cute Patch shirt she wears, the one she ties up in the middle, is on the floor.” Champ throws an arm over Kyle’s shoulders, pulling him in by the neck. “She’s fumbling with my belt, a total noob. But I told her I could walk her through it, you know? Teach her how to make it feel good for me.”

Kyle and Carl nod in sync, their heads bobbing up and down twice. Nicole’s stomach matches their rhythm, flopping over and over.

“So we’re just about to boink and she’s like, where’s the rubber?” Champ snorts. 

Nicole feels the baked beans she had for lunch coming back up. She growls softly under her breath and stalks forward. She can hear the soft  _ clack _ of Wynonna’s Altama boots behind her.

“Nicole,” she hears Wynonna warn.

Nicole ignores her. She can’t stand another minute of Champ’s story. Not when it’s about  _ Waverly _ .

“ _ Where’s the rubber? _ she asked,” Champ continues. “I was like, don’t be a pointdexter, we don’t need one, we can just-”

Nicole lunges and shoves Champ from behind. He stumbles forward, landing on one knee. His eyes are blazing when he turns and stands, his hair out of place. He stands unsteadily, wincing when his knee cracks softly.

“What’s your beef?” he asks.

Nicole pushes him again. He grabs her wrist as he goes backwards, but she twists her arm and breaks his grip before he pulls over. She stands over him, feeling her chest rise and fall too quickly for her head to keep up with. Her throat feels tight when she tries to swallow.

She feels a hand at pulling at her arm and she turns, a fist in the air. 

Wynonna pulls back slightly. “Okay, Daniel-san, relax.”

“He-he’s saying-”

“I know,” Wynonna whispers harshly. “But stop and think for a minute, Haughthead.”

Nicole looks up and finally notices Kyle and Carl flanking Champ’s sides, their mouths turned down in ugly frowns. She looks back at Wynonna helplessly. “But he can’t just say things like-” She cuts off and takes a step towards Champ.

Wynonna’s hand lands on her shoulder, burning hot through her shirt. “Trust me. I want to kick his ass as much as you do.” Her eyes cut to Champ and narrow. “But we’re not going to do it here.”

Nicole shakes Wynonna off. “Then  _ I’m _ going to do it.”

Kyle and Carl both step closer, angling themselves in front of Champ. Wynonna grabs her arm again, right over her elbow. 

“Not. Here,” Wynonna says through gritted teeth. Her grip tightens on Nicole’s elbow, almost to the point of pain. Nicole feels herself wince.

“Fine,” Nicole finally hisses back. “ _ Fine _ .” She takes a small step back, eyes narrowed at Champ.

Kyle reaches a hand down and pulls Champ to his feet. Carl puffs out his chest and snaps his teeth at Nicole.

“If you take one step closer, I’ll cut your tongue out, Carl Junger,” Wynonna spits.

Carl takes a small step back and trips on his shoelace.

Champ shoves him away and scowls at Nicole and Wynonna. He lets Kyle lead him to the other side of the gym, where wrestling mats are laid out. Champ flops onto one and Kyle stands, his arms crossed over his chest.

Coach Allenbach comes back into the gym, the heavy doors slamming shut with a bang. His face is red and his shirt is wrinkled, pebbled like a golf ball. He slicks some loose strands of hair back behind his ears. “Well? What are you all standing around for?” he shouts. “Get to it!”

Nicole meets Champ’s eye across the gym. He sits up, rubs at his knee, and glares at her.

Nicole glares back and promises herself he’s going to  _ pay _ .

At least the anger feels better than the fear that what Champ was saying is true. 

 

-

Wynonna rolls over on her bed and leans over the edge, staring down at Nicole. She pokes a finger down into Nicole’s face. “I can cut it off.”

Nicole hisses and pulls the covers down off her face. She rubs at her cheek. The Comfortaire inflatable bed Curtis bought her a few years ago -  _ for when you sleep over. Wynonna kicks like a mule _ , he had said - is slightly deflated and she’s sinking into it. “It’s  _ morning _ .”

“I can’t sleep,” Wynonna says.

“Don’t punish  _ me _ for that.”

Wynonna reaches back, grabs a pillow, and swings it forward. It hits Nicole square in the face. “I can cut it off,” she repeats.

Nicole moves the pillow off her face and rolls over onto her stomach, tucking her elbows under her body to lift up a little. “Cut what off?”

“Champ’s  _ dick _ .”

Nicole groans and drops face-first into her pillow. “Where were you on Tuesday when I needed you?” she asks, her words muffled by the pillow.

“Like I need it getting back to Gus that I let you get expelled because you beat up Champ Hardy during gym class,” Wynonna says flatly. She pauses. “Like I need it getting back to  _ Waverly _ .”

Nicole groans again. 

_ Waverly _ . 

Somehow, Nicole has managed to avoid Waverly the last few days. She begged out of riding to school with Wynonna and Waverly on Wednesday morning, telling Wynonna that her bike got a flat on the way home on Tuesday and she wouldn’t be able to fix it until after school. Waverly went in early on Thursday - cheer practice before first period. On Friday, Nicole rode ahead of Wynonna and Waverly, telling them she needed to talk to Ms. Daisy about something before school started. She spent Saturday morning with Wynonna at Mattie’s, but the rest of the day with her mom at one of Nathan’s baseball games. 

She hadn’t even come over last night until the streetlights turned on, skipping Gus’s famous four alarm chili dinner. She had slipped in through the front door and tossed Gus a quick hello before bounding up the stairs and locking herself in Wynonna’s room. For a moment, she was sure Waverly had come out of the living room and followed her up the stairs, but Wynonna turned up  Mötley Crüe and Nicole wasn’t sure if she actually heard footsteps outside the door or not. 

“It wasn’t the right time,” Wynonna says. “You know that.”

Five days later, Nicole knows that. On  _ Tuesday _ , Nicole wanted to mount Champ’s head on a stick.

She’s still avoiding Waverly and that sick, sour feeling in her stomach when she thinks about her. The anger she felt faded into something heavier, something that made Nicole want to put on The Cure’s “Pornography” tape and hide under the covers all day. She almost wishes she could go back to when she didn’t know what that feeling meant; back when Waverly was just Wynonna’s little sister, and so what if Nicole got butterflies every so often, it wasn't a big deal.

“Stop making me be the adult in this friendship,” Wynonna grumbles.

“So now is the right time?” Nicole asks. She pushes up on her elbows and blinks the sleep out of her eyes. “Right now?”

“Yes,” Wynonna says firmly. “We need to talk to Waverly.”

Nicole’s stomach twists. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It is,” Wynonna insists. “She had  _ sex _ .”

“I know.”

Wynonna’s eyes flash. “How could she do that?” She lifts up onto her knees, her hair in her face. She pushes it out of her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “She should  _ not _ be having sex. She’s way too young!”

Nicole lifts one eyebrow skeptically.

Wynonna points a finger at Nicole. “That’s not even the same thing.”

Nicole sits up slowly. “It’s okay for  _ you _ to have sex, but not Waverly.”

“Well, for one,” Wynonna starts.

Nicole shakes her head. “No, no, no. Listen.” She waits until Wynonna huffs and gestures at her to talk. “Waverly read me this article in  _ Self _ magazine last week and-”

“You guys are such  _ nerds _ , Wynonna interrupts. “Does Gus know you’re stealing her magazine to read about beauty tips and being a professional woman?”

“Does Gus know  _ you’re _ stealing cigarettes from her secret stash in the coffee can in the backyard?”

Wynonna pauses. “I don’t actually smoke them.”

“Well, I don’t actually read those magazine. Waverly does,” Nicole says defensively. 

“And you  _ listen _ to her?”

Nicole glares at her. “It doesn’t matter. The article was about how we should be  _ empowered _ by sex, not ashamed of it.”

Wynonna makes a face. “What does that even mean?”

Nicole shrugs. “Waverly says it means people should ‘own their sexuality’ instead of hiding it.” She shifts on the air mattress. “So, like, people need to stop making fun of Madonna for being… promiscuous, or whatever.”

Wynonna is quiet for a minute. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “But did Madonna sleep with  _ Champ Hardy _ ?”

Nicole feels her stomach roll. “No,” she breathes out.

_ Madonna _ didn’t sleep with Champ Hardy,  _ Waverly _ did. 

Nicole thinks back to Tuesday, in gym, and the way Champ had met her eyes across the room, and her blood boils. She feels her face flush. Her hands clench into fists. She grinds her back teeth together, feeling her jaw tighten. She had wanted to hit Champ Hardy harder than she’s ever hit anything in her life. She had wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face with her bare hands, then go back and rearrange his teeth.

She stands abruptly, her knee buckling as the air mattress bows under her weight. She catches the end of Wynonna’s bed and steadies herself.

Wynonna grins widely. “We’re doing it.”

“We’re doing it,” Nicole says firmly. An anger fills the pit of stomach. It’s easier to handle than the dread and the sadness. She can  _ use _ the anger; the sadness just keeps singing “One Hundred Years” by The Cure on repeat.

She pulls on her jeans and changes into last night’s shirt - a red-ringed white t-shirt with  _ Corvette _ screened across the front. She pulls Nathan’s baseball hat down over her hair without bothering to comb it. She grabs her jean jacket off the floor and slips it on.

“Oh, we’re really doing it,” Wynonna breathes out. She scrambles out of bed and whips her night shirt off, pulling on an old Sand Regents Casino t-shirt that used to belong to Curtis. She slides into her jeans and her boots and races Nicole down the stairs.  
  
Nicole only presses play on her Hitachi out of habit, twisting the volume dial all the way up. It’s still early enough on Sunday morning that the streets are empty, clouds of fog drifting past them as they pedal hard. She still has Waverly’s Wham! tape in the deck, and it starts up in the middle of “Everything She Wants” as they take a sharp turn off Homestead.

Main Street is quiet this time of morning - still too early for The Patch to even be officially open. Waverly’s bike is leaning up against the back of the building, a single light streaming out from the kitchen door. Wynonna drops her bike into the gravel, but Nicole takes a minute longer, leaning hers carefully up against the building. She presses ‘stop’ on her tape player and follows Wynonna through the back door into the kitchen.

Wynonna pauses in the middle of the kitchen and looks around. There’s cut lemons on the counter and Bobo is lazily starting the ovens. He grunts at them and hooks a thumb over his shoulder; Waverly is that way.

“I Can’t Go For That” is playing on the jukebox when Wynonna kicks the door open. It swings back and nearly catches her in the face, but she straight-arms it out again. Nicole slips through it before it swings closed.

Waverly gasps, and jumps. She presses her hand to her chest, a coffee mug spinning on the floor where she dropped it. “Shiz nits!” she hisses. 

Wynonna keeps walking forward, into the middle of the dining room, turning in a circle with her hands on her hips. Nicole slides in behind her, standing right over her shoulder. The anger is still boiling in her stomach, and seeing Waverly doesn’t make it any better. It makes it worse; now she’s picturing Champ with his hands on Waverly’s waist and his mouth on her neck.

Nicole shakes her head sharply, trying to clear the image.

“What’s your beef?” Waverly asks. She picks up the coffee mug and sets it down. She comes out from behind the counter and starts pulling down the stools. “It’s, like, really early.” Her eyes glance at Nicole quickly before looking away.

Nicole thinks back to last night, and the soft footsteps outside of Wynonna’s bedroom door.

“You had  _ sex _ ,” Wynonna hisses. She looks at Nicole for backup. 

“With Champ,” Nicole adds, her voice breaking on the words. She feels like she’s going to ralph, right here on the clean tiled floor. She winces at the thought; the last thing she ate was the chili cheese dog she got at the baseball field.

Waverly’s eyes snap to Nicole’s. “Say what?” she asks slowly. 

“You had  _ sex _ ,” Wynonna repeats, stomping her foot. “Are you  _ serious? _ You should  _ not _ be having sex. Do you know what they say about girls who have sex with boys like Champ?” She waves her arms around. “Do you?”

“With Champ,” Nicole repeats dumbly. Her mind is stuck on a loop:  _ Waverly _ and  _ Champ _ and  _ Waverly _ and  _ Champ _ and  _ WaverlyChamp _ . 

Wynonna frowns at her.

Waverly puts the stool in her hands down slowly. The legs echo dully against the floor, just barely audibule over the opening notes of Christine McVie’s “Got A Hold On Me” starting on the jukebox.

“Are you  _ grilling _ me about having  _ sex _ with Champ Hardy?”

Nicole flinches again. She’s picturing Champ’s stupid, meaty hand sliding up Waverly’s long leg.

“Yes,” Wynonna says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Right?” she asks Nicole.

Nicole swallows heavily. The anger is flooding quickly and the nausea is rising fast. “Right,” she manages to squeak out. 

“Which I  _ didn’t _ do,” Waverly continues, her voice low and seething. 

Wynonna’s shoulders slump. “Oh.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Waverly hisses.

Wynonna shrugs. “Well, good.” She grabs a sugar packet from the small jar on the nearest table, and rips it open with her teeth. “When you do, use a rubber,” she warns. “Don’t let them talk you out of it, no matter how cute they are.” She tips her head towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna go see if Bobo the clown will make me pancakes to go. Doc deserves some breakfast in bed,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

Nicole’s eyes widen. “I’ll come with you,” she says quickly.

Wynonna is already through the kitchen door. Nicole scrambles to follow after her but comes to a quick stop when Waverly slams a stool down to the floor.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Waverly says, her mouth twisted into a sneer. She steps in front of Nicole. “Are you  _ kidding _ me?”

Nicole takes a step back, one of the laces of her boots getting stuck under her foot. “I-”

Waverly moves forward, jabbing one finger out towards Nicole. “You really thought I had  _ sex _ ? With  _ Champ Hardy _ ?” 

Nicole flinches again.

“Who told you that?”

Nicole takes a step backwards. “Uh, Champ?”

“I’m  _ fourteen _ ,” she hisses. “I’m not having sex with  _ anyone _ , especially  _ Champ _ .”

Nicole feels the flinch coming, and hides it better this time. 

Waverly takes another few steps forward. Nicole backs up each times Waverly comes closer, trying to create space between them. She hits the jukebox with a  _ thud _ , the edges of it cutting through her jean jacket.

“And you, of all people, should know that it’s  _ not _ okay to shame people for-”

“I know, I know,” Nicole cuts in.

Waverly narrows her eyes, and Nicole snaps her mouth shut. “A woman has the right to do what she  _ wants _ to do with her body,” Waverly continues.

Nicole nods wordlessly.

“But I would  _ never _ sleep with  _ him _ .”

Nicole looks down at the finger Waverly still has poked into her chest. “Waves-”

“ _ No _ . You should know better,” Waverly says angrily. 

“I do,” Nicole agrees.

“You can’t just come in here,” Waverly shouts over her. “And  _ accuse _ me something that you  _ know _ I would never do.” She pokes Nicole in the chest. “You’re  _ not _ my mother. You’re  _ not _ Gus.” She pokes her again. “You’re  _ not _ my big sister. You’re  _ not _ in charge of me.”

“I know, I know,” Nicole says, reaching back to steady herself against the jukebox. Waverly jabs her in the chest once more.

“ _ I  _ will decide when and where I want to have sex for the first time.” She narrows her eyes at Nicole. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Nicole says firmly, nodding so hard she’s sure her head is going to separate from her neck.

“And when I  _ do _ ,” Waverly says, punctuating her words with short, sharp jabs to Nicole’s chest. “It’ll be because  _ I _ want to. Got it?”

“I do,” Nicole breathes out.

“You better,” Waverly huffs.

Nicole tries to give Waverly a smile, but Waverly ignores her.

“Take down the chairs,” Waverly commands, turning around and marching back towards the counter.

Nicole silently starts clearing off one of the tables, gently setting the chairs down on the floor. REO Speedwagon comes on, “Keep The Fire Burnin’” starting nice and easy. She looks up to try and catch Waverly’s eye twice before she does, giving Waverly a soft smile.

Waverly rolls her eyes but smiles back at her. “You’re a spazz.”

“I know,” Nicole agrees.

Waverly sighs and comes over to the table Nicole is leaning on, reaching for the final chair at the same time as Nicole does. Her hand lands on top of Nicole’s and rests there for a moment.

Nicole feels her stomach turn again, but she doesn’t feel sick this time. It’s a different roll, the kind that she got right before she let Wynonna talk her into riding Thunder Run at Wonderland in Ontario the summer Curtis took them out there. Waverly brushes her thumb across Nicole’s fingers softly. Nicole feels like she’s poised at the top of the first drop, the car ready to fall. 

“I wouldn’t... “ Waverly exhales noisily. “I wouldn’t have sex without telling you about it.”

Nicole turns her hand over slowly, hoping not to scare Waverly away. She weaves their fingers together carefully, squeezing Waverly’s hand gently.

“I know,” Nicole whispers.

Waverly keeps running her thumb over Nicole’s, from her knuckle to the tip of her fingernail. She opens her mouth but hesitates and closes it again, looking up at Nicole through her eyelashes. The neon from the jukebox is faint this far away from the speaker, but it still catches Waverly’s eyes. Nicole swallows heavily, trying to imagine what her eyes would have looked like in the disco lights at the Valentine’s Day dance. 

“Did you have sex with Shae?” Waverly finally asks, her voice barely a whisper. She looks over Nicole’s shoulder, towards the kitchen.

Nicole flinches. Waverly looks at her quickly, her eyes wide. She goes to pull her hand out of Nicole’s, but Nicole grips it tighter, following Waverly when she takes a step back.

“No, no. Wait a second.”

Waverly shakes her head. “You didn’t tell me she was your  _ girlfriend, _ and now you didn’t tell me-”

Nicole grabs for Waverly’s shoulder with her free hand, trying to hold her steady. “Waverly,  _ stop _ . I didn’t have sex with her. I didn’t even... “ Nicole takes a deep breath and rests both hands on Waverly’s shoulders. “I would have told you.”

Waverly’s shrugs. “I used to believe you when you said that.”

Nicole’s eyes burn as she drops her arms and steps back. She wrings her hands together in front of her as she looks down at the ground. Her boot is still untied and her jeans aren’t cuffed right and she’s suddenly aware that her shirt is halfway tucked and her hair is everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out.

Waverly shrugs again and takes a step back.

Nicole pushes forward. Her arms stretch out but she pulls them back in, crossing them over her chest. “I should have told you about Shae.”

“But you didn’t,” Waverly says, stepping back again.

Nicole steps closer. “It was really confusing for me,” she admits. “She  _ liked _ me, the way Doc likes Wynonna, and…” Nicole shrugs. “It was new and I didn’t know what to say about it.”

“But  _ Wynonna _ knew,” Waverly says, scoffing.

“Wynonna introduced us,” Nicole points out.

Waverly rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t know what to say.” Nicole lifts a hand to her mouth and bites at her thumb.

Waverly smacks her hand away. “I thought you were done doing that.”

Nicole forces her hands into her pockets. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me,” she whispers.

Waverly sighs and steps closer, smoothing her hands down Nicole’s arms, tugging gently at her wrists until Nicole’s hands are out of her pockets and in her own. “I was disappointed you didn’t tell me. I wasn’t disappointed in you going out with her.”

Nicole looks away, that burn behind her eyes flaring up. “Waverly, I-”

“No,” Waverly says. She inhales deeply and gives Nicole a smile. “No, I’m sorry. That was… I’m not your mom. I’m just your best friend’s little sister.”

Nicole grabs Waverly by the shoulders and pulls her close. Their foreheads bump together. “That’s not all you are,” she breathes out. “You’re so much more than that.”

_ So, so much more _ , Nicole thinks.  _ You mean the most _ .

Waverly stares up into her eyes, unblinking. Nicole can’t breathe, her throat closing as her eyes dart to Waverly’s lips, just for a moment. She looks back up into Waverly’s eyes, unsure of what she’s looking for, what she’s hoping she’ll find. Waverly’s tongue slips out of her mouth, wetting her bottom lip, and Nicole takes a step back. Her hands shake as she pushes them deep into her jeans pocket.

Waverly steps back, too. She laughs, but it sounds forced. “Yeah, right. Everyone thinks I’m Wynonna’s annoying kid sister.”

“Not me,” Nicole says, her body straining forward.

Waverly looks at her again. “Okay. Not you,” she agrees.

Nicole nods sharply. “Not me,” she repeats. She gives Waverly a shaky smile. 

“Can you help me open?” Waverly asks. “It’s nearly 6 and the guys from the station are going to be coming in for their coffee.”

Nicole is already moving behind the counter, flipping on the coffee pots and lining the machines with filters. She scoops some grounds into the bin. Waverly comes up next to her, puts one hand on her arm, lifts up on her toes, and presses her lips to Nicole’s cheek.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

Nicole swallows, choking on the words “ _ you’re welcome _ .”  She nods instead and gives Waverly a small smile.

They open The Patch together while Kevin Cronin sings to them.

“ _ It gets rough, but there's nowhere to run. This is where we belong. _ ”

 

-

Nicole stabs her fork down, jabbing mercilessly at her spaghetti and meatballs lunch. She misses, and her plastic fork cracks against the table.

“Cool it, He-Man.” Wynonna looks down at Nicole’s fork, the plastic completely splintered. “What did that fork do to you?”

“If I’m He-Man, are you Cringer?”

Wynonna narrows her eyes at Nicole. “Do I  _ look _ like a coward?”

Nicole shrugs and drops her fork onto her tray, pushing it away. “Every time I see that airhead, I want to make his face into a Halloween mask.”

“Who?” Waverly asks, sitting down across from them. She gives Nicole a soft smile.

Nicole sits up, resting her elbows on the table. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Waverly breathes out.

Wynonna looks between the two of them. “Hey,” she adds. “Now, if we’re done being mental, can we focus, please?”

Nicole nudges her tray forward a little more, angling it towards Waverly. Waverly looks down at it, up at Nicole, and grins. She grabs the chocolate pudding cup off Nicole’s tray and puts it on her own.

“ _ Thank you _ ,” she mouths.

Nicole winks back at her.

“Earth to Space Cases?” Wynonna says, rapping her knuckles on the table. “I’m trying to plan our Saturday morning, here. Doc has his Class 7-Learner’s permit and he can borrow one of the cars from the shop.” She leans in, her eyes sparkling. “There’s a 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner that needs a test drive.”

Waverly is shaking her head before Wynonna finishes talking. “You’re not allowed to ride with him. It’s against the law.” Her shoulders slump. “And Gus needs me to help at The Patch. Joyce Arbour fell of the face of the earth and left me with all of her shifts.”

Nicole frowns. Saturday’s at Mattie’s has been the best day of the week since the first time Curtis took her and Wynonna to her place, The Forge. When Waverly started coming, Nicole would wake up even earlier, buzzing with the idea of spending the morning in her favorite place with two of her favorite people. And Wynonna. 

She almost ruined all of it with Shae. 

Waverly came with them last week, though, after they talked at The Patch. Nicole pedaled over the McCready house early, her breath coming out in large, white clouds. She parked her bike at the bottom of the steps and looked up. Waverly stood on the porch, scuffing her Reeboks against the railing post, chewing on her bottom lip. Wynonna blew through the door, the screen slamming behind her. Waverly watched as Wynonna grabbed her bicycle and hefted it down the stairs, mounting it and looking back impatiently. Nicole dropped her bike to the grass and climbed the steps, grabbing Waverly’s bike by the top tube and hoisting it up onto her shoulder. The front wheel spun and caught her in the chin, but she grit her teeth against the sharp pain blossoming in her face and carefully put Waverly’s bike down on the sidewalk. 

Waverly pressed a fleeting kiss to her cheek and Nicole didn’t care that her jaw ached for three days.

“So you’re not coming?”

Waverly gives Nicole a sad smile. “I wish. But Gus needs me and…” She shrugs.

Nicole nods; she remembers Waverly’s promise to Curtis.

Wynonna flicks a pea at Nicole’s head. “ _ I’m _ still going, you know. Man.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s like, some days, if I didn’t know any better…” She trails off and shakes her head. “But that would be…” She shakes her head again. “So you and Me and Doc’s Roadrunner makes Three?”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “ _ Three’s Company _ .”

Wynonna pouts. “You never care when it’s  _ Waverly _ .”

Nicole feels her face flush. She grabs at her tray and pushes a meatball across a spaghetti mountain with the handle part of her fork. “Bag your face,” she mumbles. Her eyes flick upward and catch Waverly staring back at her, her forehead knitted in concentration.

Waverly sees her looking and the wrinkles in her forehead smooth out. She gives Nicole a soft smile.

Someone a few tables over  _ whoops _ and Nicole looks up, her gaze immediately landing back on the person she’d be complaining about before Waverly sat down. She narrows her eyes and her grip tightens on her already broken fork. She sneers as her shoulders tighten.

“What-?” Waverly turns around and sighs heavily. “Guys, it’s totally fine.”

Wynonna glances over her shoulder. “That guy is a wasteoid.”

“I’m going to waste  _ him _ ,” Nicole growls.

Wynonna snorts. “You mean more than you already-” She stops quickly, glancing at Waverly. “Violence is never the answer?”

“It is if the question is: What do you do with Champ Hardy?” Nicole says.

Waverly clears her throat.

Nicole’s head snaps up, and she blinks. “I mean, uh.” She rubs at the back of her neck, her jean jacket falling open. Waverly’s eyes follow her motion, tracking from the sleeve of her jacket back up her arm, over her shoulder, and down into the space between the denim and her cotton Slayer t-shirt. “He deserves it.”

“Even if he does deserve-”

“He  _ deserves _ it,” Nicole repeats firmly. The plastic of her fork cuts into the palm of her hand. “He was telling  _ all _ of fourth period gym class that you slept with him.” Her voice is low, hissing out of her throat in a tone she doesn’t recognize. She leans forward, the front of her jacket dangerously close to the questionable tomato sauce.

Waverly reaches across the table, resting her hand on Nicole’s. She slowly works her finger through Nicole’s fist until Nicole feels her fingers loosening. “But you know it’s not true.” Her eyes dart to Wynonna. “And you know it’s not true. And Chrissy knows. And  _ Champ _ knows it’s not true.” She shrugs. 

“How…” Nicole shakes her head. “How are you, like,  _ so calm _ about this? How are you not  _ mad _ ?”

Waverly shrugs. “You’re red enough for the both of us.”

  
The five minute warning bell rings, sharp and shrill. Waverly jumps up, stacking her tray on top of Nicole’s, then on Wynonna’s. “I’ll see you guys later?”

Wynonna opens her mouth, her eyes sparkling. Nicole elbows her in the side and her mouth closes reflexively. 

“We’ll wait at the bike rack for you.”

Waverly smiles widely and wiggles her fingers at them.

Nicole watches Waverly weave through the lunch crowd, stopping at Chrissy Nedley’s table. She perches on the end of the bench, crossing one leg over the other. She’s wearing leggings today, ones with little pumpkins on them. Halloween is this weekend and Waverly has been wearing a steady stream of orange and black the last two weeks. 

They had decorated The Patch last weekend after their trip to Mattie’s. Nicole brought out Bobo’s 1982 Toshiba RT-200S out from the kitchen, the one with the auto-reverse feature that turned the tape over on it’s own. She put in her new Boston tape, “ _ Third Stage,” _ in and listened to Waverly hum along to “Amanda” as they stretched cotton balls into something that hopefully looked like spider webs. 

Waverly ran orange christmas lights along the window frame, plugging them in proudly. They hung the decorations Curtis had bought years and year ago around the diner: tin witches and a giant poster of the ‘It’s A Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ cartoon; paper pumpkin cutouts and a sheet over the gumball machine by the front door; a giant Frankenstein's monster’s head on top of the jukebox.

After Boston was done, Waverly put in “ _ The Original Monster Mash” _ by Bobby Pickett and the Crypt-Kickers. Nicole groaned but sang along to “Blood Bank Blues” while Waverly spun circles around her, dancing with a skeleton.

She looks back across the cafeteria and glares. Champ is sitting on the edge of his table, his football jersey too big on his shoulders without his pads underneath them. He’s smirking, his eyes on Waverly as she throws her hair over one shoulder and laughs at something Chrissy says. Her stomach sours, the meatballs she managed to choke down rolling uncomfortably. 

She doesn’t realize she’s standing up until Wynonna grabs her by the sleeve and pulls her back down.

“Sit down,” Wynonna growls. “You look like an airhead, standing up and staring like that.”

“I’m gonna give him a fresh one,” Nicole says firmly. She nods sharply. “Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do.” She lifts one leg over the bench.

“You’ll get a lifetime of detention,” Wynonna points out. “Do you want to spend that much time with Valdez?” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the furthest table in the corner. Valdez is sitting herself, shoulders hunched over her tray. “Or  _ expelled _ .”

Nicole only hesitates for a moment. “It’ll be worth it.”

Wynonna snorts. “Why don’t we just, I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Saran Wrap that damn truck.”

Nicole opens her mouth to protest, but inhales sharply instead. She knows Champ’s truck. He doesn’t have his Class 7-Learner’s permit yet, but his dad got him an early 16th birthday present: a terracotta red, 1983 Toyota SR5 with a spoiler on the front and a rack in the back, foglights mounted on top. Champ took a Polaroid of it and was and showing it to everyone in study hall.

“It’s got lifted tires, too,” he had bragged. “And a bitchin’ 8-track tape deck.”

Nicole turns and sits down slowly. “ _ Yes,” _ she breathes out.

Wynonna laughs. “Yeah, that would totally make him freak.”

“Yes,” Nicole repeats. She pulls a pencil and a lined piece of paper of out her backpack. She labels it ‘Supplies’ at the top, underlining it with a hard stroke of the pencil. “We’ll need Saran Wrap. And-and, uh.” She looks up at Wynonna. “What else?”

Wynonna frowns at her. “What?”

Nicole slides in closer to Wynonna, their shoulders and arms touching. She bounces her leg excitedly. “We’re going to  _ Saran Wrap  _ his truck,” she whispers. “I can’t beat him up, you’re right. Not without getting in trouble.  _ Or worse _ , not without Waverly finding out.”

Wynonna shakes her head slowly. “This is a terrible idea,” she points out. She pauses for a second and claps her hands together. “We’re doing it. What do we need?”

“Saran Wrap,” Nicole repeats, writing it down. She chews on the end of the pencil.

“Eggs!” Wynonna shouts.

Xavier Dolls, a table over, looks up at them with a frown.

“Let’s egg his house,” Wynonna says, her voice lower.

Nicole thinks about it. “What about toilet paper, instead? More cleanup?”

Wynonna sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and squints. She taps her finger against the table top. “Toilet paper will do.”

Nicole writes it down. She taps the pencil eraser against the palm of her other hand. “We can fill his locker with balloons?”

“Do  _ you _ know how to break into a locker?” Wynonna asks, her eyes wide.

“Rosita does,” Nicole says, shrugging.

Wynonna tips her head, considering it, and then shrugs. “Righteous, but not… enough.”

“Food coloring in his toothbrush,” Nicole offers. Nathan had pulled that one on her last year, and she had blue teeth for a week. She convinced her mom to tell the school she had the flu.

Wynonna huffs, pushing her hair out of her face. “So you’re going to climb up to his window all romantic-like and slip into his bathroom and… put  _ food coloring _ in his toothbrush.”

Nicole flushes. “Okay, it’s not an ace idea.”

“We need to think bigger.” She drops her chin into her hands, elbows resting on the table. “We need to think…  _ bagged _ .” She sits up, her eyes sparkling. “Milk. We can put powdered milk on his lawn. Doesn’t Champ’s dad water it, like, every morning?”

“Even during the Prairie drought a few years ago,” Nicole says. She grins. “Powdered milk is  _ perfect _ .” She writes it down on her list.

Champ laughs again, across the cafeteria, and Nicole underlines ‘supplies’ once more. She watches him lean forward and high five Kyle York. She thinks back to gym class, the way Kyle had stood in front of Champ,  _ protecting _ him.

“I want them, too,” Nicole says lowly.

Wynonna looks down at their list. “We’re gonna need  _ a lot _ more powdered milk.”

 

-

“Gosh, what are you kids up to?” Dr. Reggie asks.

Wynonna shrugs, eyes carefully aimed over his shoulder. “Shortage at The Patch,” she says casually.

Dr. Reggie nods, not really hearing Wynonna. “What’re you two supposed to be, anyway?”

Nicole looks down at her outfit. She’s in her Cove boots and a pair of her mom’s black socks, stretched up to her calves under a pair of black jeans she found in the back of Nathan’s closet. She’s wearing her black Metallica “Masters of Puppets” t-shirt under a black zip up sweatshirt. She borrowed a black baseball cap from the rack off Nathan’s bedroom wall.

Wynonna is in a pair of black jeans she borrowed from Doc, her Altama boots, and one of Curtis’s old black pullover sweatshirts. Doc let her use his new hat, a felt black cowboy hat with a silk black tie around it. 

“Cowboys,” Wynonna says.

“Rock stars,” Nicole says at the same time. 

“You kids and your punk rock,” Dr. Reggie says, laughing. 

“ _ Punk rock _ ,” Nicole mouths at Wynonna. She sticks out her tongue.

Wynonna rolls her eyes and cants one hip forward, reminding Nicole where the money is. Nicole digs into Wynonna’s front jean pocket, pulling out the allowance money they pooled together this morning. 

Dr. Reggie puts the last can of Dairyland powdered milk in the paper bag he’s filling and slides it across the counter. Nicole puts it in Wynonna’s arms, adding to the other three bags she’s holding. She watches Dr. Reggie punch the prices into the cash register and carefully counts out the wrinkled bills in her hands.

They skipped Mattie’s this morning. Wynonna had kicked and screamed about it, but Nicole was adamant: Waverly came first. And pranking Champ was taking care of Waverly.

She had ridden over in the morning like normal, stopping inside for a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal.

“You girls headed to Mattie’s?” Gus asked. 

Nicole swallowed a mouthful of coffee and let Wynonna take point.

“For sure,” Wynonna lied, immediately shoving a whole piece of toast in her mouth.

Gus grimaced. “Table manners, girl. You weren’t raised in a barn.”

Wynonna opened her mouth to protest, but Nicole kicked her under the table.

They biked out to their hideout in the woods as soon as Gus left the house, Waverly in tow. Nicole stood on the porch and watched them drive away, waving until they turned the corner. They laid their money out on a stump to count it, Nicole taking over when Wynonna got bored. Between the two of them, they had enough for a couple dozen rolls of toilet paper, a few cans of powdered milk, and enough rolls of Saran Wrap that they could probably give Champ about an hour’s worth of work to free his truck.

“That guy isn’t even a real doctor,” she points out as they load the paper bags into the basket on the front of Nicole’s bike.

Wynonna balances the bag that doesn’t fit in the basket on her handlebars. “He’s totally creepy.”

Nicole looks through the drugstore window at Dr. Reggie, shaking her head as he starts talking to one of the mummy standees by the cash registers. “Guy belongs down at the morgue.”

Wynonna pushes off the curb, her front tire spinning as she tries to figure out how to ride and hold the bag at the same time. She goes another five feet before she gets into a rhythm. “He’d scare the dead people.”

Nicole considers it for a moment and nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Main Street is already dark at this hour. Half the town is coming down from their sugar high, courtesy of the annual Purgatory Halloween ‘Trick or Treat on Main Street’ event. Waverly had manned the door at The Patch, dressed like Marty McFly - a pair of jeans, her Reeboks, a red puffy vest, a denim jacket, and a flannel shirt she borrowed from Nicole. She passed out candy to small pumpkins and clowns and little ghosts in white sheets. The sidewalks are littered with candy wrappers and orange confetti.

The other half are on their couches, televisions flickering in dark living rooms. Wynonna stops in front of the Tate’s house, eyes glued to their 19’’1984 Magnavox color TV.

“Come on, Wynonna,” Nicole grumbles, flexing her hands on her handlebars. It’s cold and she forgot gloves.

Wynonna waves a hand back at her, shushing her. “This is my favorite part.”

Nicole has to look away as Freddy Krueger chases after Nancy Thompson, “I hate these movies.” Her eyes drift along the front lawn, over the pumpkins piled by the back door. She frowns. “Hey, isn’t that Nathan’s bike?”

She peers through the darkness. It’s definitely Nathan’s ‘84 Patterson PR-200. 

Wynonna whistles low. “Get it, Nate.”

Nancy Thompson screams on screen, the sound bleeding out through the cracks in the window frame.

Nicole grips her handlebars again. “Come on,” she repeats. “Let’s go before Dr. Reggie puts it together that The Patch is closed.”

“Cool out,” Wynonna mutters. “What? You got a hot date?” She coasts a few feet ahead of Nicole before she looks back over her shoulder. “Wait.  _ Do _ you have a hot date?”

“No,” Nicole says quickly.

It’s  _ not _ a date. It’s just Waverly and popcorn and ‘It’s A Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ on VHS. Which  _ isn’t _ a date. It’s just Halloween.

Wynonna snorts. “Fine.” She pedals ahead and then lifts her feet, letting Nicole catch up to her. “Is there anyone you  _ want _ to go on a hot date with?”

_ Just Waverly and popcorn and ‘It’s A Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ on VHS _ , Nicole thinks.

“No,” she says again, even faster.

Wynonna narrows her eyes. “You can tell me, you know.” She stops her bike with her feet, her soles scraping along the pavement. Her eyes soften. She pushes one hand into her jeans pocket, the other holding the paper bag steady on her handlebars. “Honest.”

Nicole lets her bike slow to a stop next to Wynonna, planting her feet on either side of the frame, and leaning back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know,” she says quietly.

“Things didn’t work out with Shae,” Wynonna starts.

Nicole flinches slightly, the large sweatshirt she’s wearing hiding most of her motion.

“But she isn’t the only girl in the whole world,” Wynonna continues. “And if you want to, we can find someone else.

_ Just Waverly and popcorn and ‘It’s A Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ on VHS _ , Nicole thinks.

Nicole shakes her head.

Wynonna stares at her for another minute longer, her eyes unreadable. She finally nods slowly and finds her balance again, rocketing forward. Nicole pedals hard for a few feet to keep up.

“Well, I do,” Wynonna says as they turn off Gates and onto Kelly. “Have a hot date, I mean. Doc let me borrow his new hat, but he wants to collect payment later.”

Nicole fakes a gag, exaggerating enough that her front tire wobbles dangerously. Wynonna laughs and rides from one side of the road to the other, looping in circles around Nicole. They race down Kelly, Nicole turning onto Baker half a second before Wynonna. She throws her arms up in victory. Wynonna groans softly and kicks halfheartedly at her back tire.

They quiet as Baker turns into Gibson, eyes scanning every lawn for bikes they recognize. Nicole whistles softly when she spots Kyle and Pete York’s matching 1983 SE Racing Quadrangles. Wynonna goes past their driveway and across the street, dropping her bike into a bush. Nicole puts her bike down gently next to it, pulling a roll of toilet paper and a can of Dairyland out of the paper bags.

Wynonna gestures for the powdered milk. “You have a better arm. That’s why Jolene Odam always picks you for softball.”

Nicole flushes. She’s pretty sure, based on the way Jolene cornered her after gym class one day when Wynonna was sick, that Jolene didn’t pick her just for her arm. 

They slip across the street, dancing around the arch of the streetlight above them. Wynonna heads up the driveway, past the front of the house, feeling along the vinyl siding.

Nicole starts on the toilet papering. She throws the roll up and over a low tree branch, catching it when it comes back down. She throws it up a few more times, until the tree starts to look like a Christmas tree, the toilet paper like tinsel. She looks back over her shoulder at the bikes on the front walk.

“Wynonna?” she hisses into the darkness.

“What?” Wynonna asks from behind her,

Nicole jumps. “ _ Shiz nits! _ ”

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “You sound like Waverly.”

Nicole presses her hand to her chest. “What the hell?” she asks, barely hearing her own voice over her heart racing circles in her chest.

Wynonna shrugs. “What do you want?”

Nicole opens her mouth to ask Wynonna to help her, but stops when she hears the soft trickle of water. She looks Wynonna up and down and groans. “What are you  _ doing _ ?”

Wynonna looks down at the garden hose in her hand. “How do you think you get milk from powder?” She shakes the can of Dairyland in her other hand, sprinkling it on the grass. She moves the hose over, watering the powder until it dissolves. In the soft light coming from above the front door, the milk looks like Nathan’s baseball pants after a game. “You add water,” she finishes.

Nicole can’t argue with that. She points at the hose. “Put that down. I need you to pass me those bikes.” She pushes the sleeves of her sweatshirt up carelessly, trying to ignore the overwhelming desire to roll them more precisely. 

Wynonna drops the hose, water splashing in Nicole’s direction. It’s cold when it soaks into her jeans.

Nicole lines herself up under the tree and takes a deep breath. She jumps, her fingertips barely brushing the low branch she’s reaching for. She checks the York house: it’s pitch black, except for the eerie blue television screen Nicole can see through a window that looks like it leads into the kitchen. She squats down and jumps again, one hand catching on the branch. She’s unbalanced, though, and she slips off again.

“What’re you doing?” Wynonna hisses.

Nicole squats again and pushes up, both hands ready. She grips the tree branch and tries to swing one leg up. Her boot catches enough that she can stretch out and lay flat as she steadies herself on the branch. 

“Haught damn, you idiot,” Wynonna breathes out. She’s standing under Nicole, looking up at her with a mix of confusion and awe on her face. “What are you doing?”

Nicole shimmies until she’s sitting up on the branch. “Gimme that bike,” she says, motioning to one of the two SE Racers.

Wynonna dutifully wheels it under the tree, her face still twisted in confusion. “What are you doing?”

Nicole gestures for the bike. “Just, like, lift it it up as high as you can.”

“Are you  _ shitting _ me?” Wynonna looks at the bike. “I can’t lift this thing”

“You need to lay off the shakes,” Nicole grumbles.

Wynonna glares at her, her hands on her hips. “I’ll leave you up there.”

“I don’t need your help to get down,” Nicole fires back. “Just, like, lift it up on it’s back wheel. I’ll do the rest.”

Wynonna keeps glaring at her, but angles the bicycle back onto it’s wheel, the front tire crashing to one side of the frame.

The both freeze, eyes scanning the house to see if anyone noticed. Nicole counts to twenty in her head but no lights come on, the front door doesn’t open, and they’re in the clear. 

She reaches down again and Wynonna straightens out the front wheel out. Nicole grabs the front fork and grits her teeth, pulling the weight of the bike up. She gets the frame high enough that she can set it down on the branch she’s using as a bench. She scans the tree and then reaches up, knocking her knuckles against a branch nearby.  _ It’ll hold _ , she decides.

Nicole shoulders the frame, stretching up as high as she can. She barely manages to get the triangle of the tubes over the end of the branch, but she pushes until it holds. She shoves the bike as close to the trunk of the tree as she can.

“You’re  _ brilliant _ ,” Wynonna breathes out. She jogs over to the second bike and picks it up, wheeling to the tree. She lifts it again, steadier this time, and Nicole grabs for it, deciding she’ll shove this one into the ‘v’ where the tree splits into two smaller trunks. It’s easier than the last bike, by far, and she wedges it in tight enough that she thinks, maybe, a few front spokes curve under the pressure.

She looks at the bike and grins. “Get bent, Yorks,” she whispers before she slides off the branch, landing hard on her feet. Her ankles ache but she’s grinning ear to ear. 

They throw the rest of the toilet paper up into the tree, letting it hang in long loops. Wynonna walks methodically across the lawn, turning the white snow-like powder into murky milk. They slip back across the street, getting on their bikes as they admire their work.

Nicole swears she sees a cat creep out from under the front bushes, lapping at the milk.

The Hardys live a few streets back towards Main, and there’s a few houses in between Nicole knows they want to hit. The Jungers’ house isn’t hard to find; Nicole doesn’t put his bike in a tree, but she does pull a wrench out of the basket of her bike and unscrew the front wheel off his 1983 Murray X24.

“You… just  _ carry _ a wrench,” Wynonna asks, her eyes wide. 

“I, uh,” she stutters. She has it only because Nathan was tightening the nuts on her wheels the other day and she forgot to take it out.

“Every time I think you’re a total noob, you pull a  _ wrench _ out of your bike.” Wynonna claps her on the back.

Nicole winces slightly, but drops the wrench back into her basket.

They pull up to the Hardys’ house quietly, slowing themselves with their feet. It’s a large house, for Purgatory, and the Hardys are vain about. Nicole can remember the older folks and cops who stopped at the counter for their coffee on Sunday mornings talking about how the Hardys were out watering their lawn or raking in the middle of July. 

“I don’t see the big deal,” Wynonna mutters.

They park their bikes across the road again, carrying paper bags back with them. Wynonna cracks open a can of Dairyland and starts sprinkling it along the lawn, humming some Queen song Nicole can barely make out.

Nicole throws two rolls of toilet paper up into the two trees overlooking the Hardys’ lawn. She winds it all along the trunk, letting it hang into the powdered milk. She pulls a third roll out of her brown bag and drapes it across the shutters and covering the front glass door.

“Glass door,” she mutters. “Are you too totally cool for  _ screens _ ?”

Wynonna dumps the entire can of powdered milk out, dropping the empty tin back into the paper bag. “Water,” she whispers to Nicole.

Nicole shakes her head. “After. They have sprinklers.”

Wynonna pauses. Nicole knows she’s right; sprinklers will make a lot more noise than using a hose like they did at the Yorks’ and the Jungers’ and the Andersons’ and the Levins’ house. 

Nicole pulls the Saran Wrap out of the bag and looks at Champ’s truck, gleaming in the streetlight. They can stop here and call it even; Champ’s dad will flip about the ruined lawn and it’ll take at least a day to get the soggy toilet paper out of the trees and bushes. She’s about to put the Saran Wrap back when she remembers back to to gym, to the  _ smug _ look on Champ’s face and the things he said about Waverly.

She locks eyes with Wynonna and nods. 

They each take a roll and start at opposite ends of the truck.

“ _ Waverly Earp is bangin’ _ ,” she mutters, her voice low and mocking. “ _ I totally had sex with her. I’m Champ Hardy and I’m super primo _ .”

Wynonna pokes her head around the front of the truck. “Huh?”

Nicole flushes, glad the dark hides her blush. “Nothing,” she whispers back. She goes back to the Saran Wrap. “ _ I’m Champ and I’m a dickweed. _ ”

She winds the Saran Wrap around his back bumper, up and over the tailgate. Slowly, she pulls the latch and listens as the lock unsticks. She lowers the tailgate and uses half the roll of plastic wrap on it. She rolls the Saran Wrap under the truck, from one side to the other and loops it around the truck bed. She can see Wynonna standing on a tire, throwing her roll of plastic across the top of the cab. She jumps down and runs around the front of the truck.

Nicole uses a second roll and splits it between his back tires. She loses count after she goes around the twentieth time. 

“Water,” Wynonna reminds her. “I need to get another roll of Wrap and... ” She shrugs.

Nicole nods. “I’ll turn it on. Just let me know when you’re done, okay?”

“I’ll whistle,” Wynonna says distractedly.

She fumbles around in the shadows, feeling along the vinyl siding until she hits the spigot she’s looking for. It’s tight and cold to the touch, but she lays her hand down on it and waits.

After another minute, Wynonna lets out a sharp whistle. Nicole twists hard and hears the water start to trickle through the hose. 

Nicole sprints down the driveway, the sprinklers kicking on with a loud sound. She crashes into Wynonna as she steps out from behind Champ’s truck, a half slice of bologna in her hand, a piece hanging from her mouth. 

“Where did you get the bologna?” Nicole asks breathless.

Wynonna shrugs. “At the drugstore. I put it on his truck before I wrapped it.”

“You-you…” Nicole shakes her head. “Okay. Okay. We gotta go, we gotta go,” she says, shoving Wynonna towards the bottom of the driveway.

They stand in Champ Hardy’s driveway, breathing hard as they survey their work.

“For Waverly,” Nicole breathes. She holds out her hand, palm facing up.

Wynonna goes to bring her hand down on top of Nicole’s and pauses, a piece of bologna still in her hand. She shoves it in her mouth. “For Waverly,” she says, her mouth full.

A light comes on in a window on the second floor.

Nicole turns and sprints back to her bicycle, throwing her leg over the frame. Wynonna’s hands slip off her bike the first time she tries to pick it up, but she manages to right it.

Another light goes on in a hallway.

“I’m going to Doc’s,” Wynonna hisses.

Nicole looks over her shoulder, in the opposite direction. “I’m going to Gus’s.”

Wynonna gets on her bike, one foot resting on the curb. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

The front porch light comes on.

Nicole hurriedly shoves the paper bags deep into the basket on her bike. “Tomorrow,” she agrees.

Wynonna nods sharply and pushes off the curb, pedaling hard and fast down Rodeo Drive. Nicole pedals in the opposite direction, standing up on her bike as she rounds the corner off Rodeo onto Cypress.

She can hear a door open. “What the hell?” someone shouts.

“My truck,” Champ moans.

She presses play on her Hitachi when she’s far enough away from the Hardys’ that she’s sure she won’t get caught. Twisted Sister is in the deck and “Stay Hungry” is finishing as she pedals, bike aimed towards Homestead.

“We’re Not Gonna Take It” comes on and Nicole feels a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. She leans back on her seat, dropping one hand off the handlebars to tap out the beat against her leg. She turns up the volume dial as Dee Snider starts to sing.

“Oh,  _ we’re not gonna take it.” _

_ “No _ !” Nicole sings along. “ _ We ain’t gonna take it! _ ”

She bobs her head to the song, singing it at the top of her lungs as she passes under streetlights. A dog barks somewhere, but she sings louder. “ _ Oh, we’re not gonna take it anymore.” _

Champ’s strangled moan echoes in her head as she pedals harder. “ _ We've got the right to choose it. There ain't no way we'll lost it. This is our life, this is our song _ ,” she shouts. 

It’s a cool night, but she feels like she’s on fire. She stretches both arms out, feeling the wind whip through her hair and against her face. Her bike wobbles but she shifts her weight to steady herself.

“ _ We'll fight the powers that be, don't pick our destiny 'cause you don't know us _ ,” she screams into the night. “ _ You don't belong _ !” 

She puts her hands back on the grips and leans into the wind, pedalling hard. “ _ We’re not gonna take it. No, we ain’t gonna take it _ . _ Oh, we’re not gonna take it anymore _ .”

The McCreadys’ house is in the distance, the porch light on. She skids to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the steps, cranking the volume down and stabbing at the ‘stop button.’ She leaves her bike at the bottom of the steps and takes them in two strides, not bothering to knock as she pushes through the front door.

There’s no lights on in the kitchen or the living room. There’s a Gus-shaped lump on the couch, snoring softly. Nicole slows herself down and toes off her boots after she unlaces them. She sets them down softly on the shoes rack and tiptoes up the stairs, skipping the last step because she knows it creaks. A soft light spills out from the bottom of Waverly’s bedroom door.

Nicole barrels through it, twisting and shutting the door quickly behind her. Her chest rises and falls rapidly.

Waverly is sitting up in bed, a book in one hand, and her alarm clock radio humming softly. 

Nicole grins. “You’re awake.”

“I was waiting for you.” Waverly smiles widely back at her. “You came.”

“ _ Faithfully _ ,” Nicole breathes out.

Waverly wrinkles her nose. “That’s so lame.”

Nicole flushes. She peels off her sweatshirt and drops it on the floor. Her high is fading as she stands still, her hard ride over here leaving her sweaty and suddenly exhausted. Waverly stares at her, head tipped to one side, and Nicole feels her flush spread, down her chest and to the tips of her toes. She pulls at the collar of her Metallica shirt, trying to cool herself down. 

Waverly pats the empty space next to her, looking at Nicole expectantly.

Nicole dives headfirst, landing hard on the uncomfortable mattress. Waverly shouts in surprise and shoves at Nicole, trying to find the book Nicole landed on. Nicole rolls to one side and pulls it out from underneath her hip, handing it back with a frown.

“Isn’t this for school? Isn’t it a  _ weekend _ ?”

Waverly snatches it out of her hand. “ _ To Kill a Mockingbird _ is a classic, you know.”

Nicole rolls her eyes, but smiles to take the sting out it.

“Sorry it’s not up to your  _ usual _ standards,” Waverly huffs, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t knock  _ Rolling Stone _ ,” Nicole says. She stifles a yawn, laying her head back against Waverly’s pillow. She can see everything in close detail from here: the sharp edge of Waverly’s jaw and the softness in her cheek.

“You’re tired,” Waverly says.

Nicole sits up, blinking rapidly. “No, no. I’m not.”

She’s been looking forward to this all night: to Waverly and popcorn and ‘It’s A Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’ and sharing a blanket on the couch. Waverly is a cuddler, wrapping herself around Nicole and playing with the ends of her hair. 

But Waverly isn’t wrong; Nicole is tired, the night catching up to her.

Waverly opens her nightstand drawer, pulling out the September 25th issue of  _ Rolling Stone _ . 

“What about ‘It’s a Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’? And popcorn?” Nicole asks, even as her eyes slip closed.

Waverly giggles. “You’re not even going to make it through the first page of this article.”

“I will,” Nicole protests weakly. “I like this article.”

“You like making fun of Don Johnson because  _ I _ like him.”

“I’m gonna stay awake,” Nicole repeats.

Waverly runs a hand through Nicole’s hair, her fingers brushing against Nicole’s shoulder when it slips out of the short strands. “Sure,” she agrees, her voice stained with disbelief. “I’ll re-read the part about Don Johnson’s Mercedes with the cellular phone inside it and you’ll tell me that’s stupid to have a phone without a cord, and then you’ll fall asleep.”

Nicole opens her mouth to protest, but Waverly cuts her off.

“It’s already happened three times. And we just got the issue a month ago.”

Nicole rolls her eyes but turns over onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “I’m listening,” she says firmly. “You can read now.”

“ _ I can read now _ ,” Waverly repeats, scoffing. She opens the magazine to the dog-earred page, taking a breath. Her arm drops behind Nicole’s head, scratching light at the top of her scalp. Nicole wiggles closer and Waverly’s hand slides lower, to the base of her neck.

Nicole feels her eyes flutter closed, but she doesn’t want to give Waverly the satisfaction of being right. 

“It is high summer in Miami Beach,” Waverly starts.

Nicole leans back into Waverly’s hand, a pleasant buzz in her ears. Waverly’s voice is soft and just the right speed. 

“He is wearing white suede deck shoes,” she continues. “Off-white cotton slacks and — this being the season of ''no more earth tones'' on  _ Miami Vice _ — a bright banana-yellow T-shirt. No socks, of course, and the celebrated chin stubble is perfect.”

“He sounds like a  _ poser _ ,” Nicole mutters.

“He sounds dreamy,” Waverly argues. Her hand runs from the top of Nicole’s spine up behind her ear.

Waverly reads slowly, each word measured carefully. Nicole can feel herself slipping into sleep, the victory high drifting into this post-prank lull. Waverly’s bed is warm and it smells like coconut shampoo. Nicole lets her eyes droop shut for just a second.

“Hey?” Waverly asks, pausing the article. She rubs at Nicole’s shoulder. “What did you even do tonight?”

“ _ We’re not gonna take it _ ,” Nicole murmurs sleepily.

Waverly rolls her eyes. “You and that music. I’ll never understand.” 

“It’s the best,” Nicole protests, rolling onto her back. She bends one arm under her head. “It just…”

Waverly smoothes some hair off Nicole’s face. “I was teasing. I understand. I know how much it means to you.” 

Nicole smiles, her eyes closing again.

Waverly is quiet for a minute before her voice starts again. “Don't misunderstand: Johnson appreciates what  _ Vice _ has done for him,” Waverly reads. “It's provided more than just fame and fortune and the attendant perks: the chauffeured Mercedes with the cellular phone and the top drawer Alpine tape deck; the big silver Blue Bird mobile home stocked with the Sony A/V stack, a personal chef and…”


End file.
